“You needn't trouble yourself, ma'am,” said Glory, opening the door to go.
“Why so?” said the matron.
Glory stood at her full height and answered:
“Because if you said that of me there is nobody in the world would believe you!”
Her box had been brought down to the hall, and the porter, who wished to be friendly, was cording it.
“May I leave it in your care, porter, until I am able to call for it?”
“Certingly, nurse. Sorry you're goin'. I'll miss your face, too.”
“Thank you. I'll call for my letters also.”
“There's one just come.”
It was from Aunt Anna, and was full of severe reproof and admonition. Glory was not to think of leaving the hospital; she must try to be content with the condition to which God had called her. But why had her letters been so few of late? and how did it occur that she had never told them about Mr. Storm? He had gone for good into that strange Brotherhood, it seemed. Not Catholic, and yet a monastery. Most extraordinary! They were all eagerly waiting to hear more about it. Besides, the grandfather was anxious on Glory's account. If half they heard was true, the dangers of London——